Wid. No, no, sir. Come, major, let us make haste now to the Prerogative-court.
Old. But, lady, if what you say be true, will you stigmatise your reputation on record? and if it be not true, how will you prove it?
Wid. Pshaw! I can prove anything: and for my reputation, know, major, a wise woman will no more value her reputation, in disinheriting a rebellious son of a good estate, than she would in getting him, to inherit an estate. [Exeunt Widow Blackacre and Major Oldfox.
Free. Madam.—We must not let her go so, squire.
Jer. Nay, the devil can't stop her though, if she has a mind to't. But come, bully-guardian, we'll go and advise with three attorneys, two proctors, two solicitors, and a shrewd man of Whitefriars, neither attorney, proctor, nor solicitor, but as pure a pimp to the law as any of 'em: and sure all they will be hard enough for her, for I fear, bully-guardian, you are too good a joker to have any law in your head.
Free. Thou'rt in the right on't, squire, I understand no law; especially that against bastards, since I'm sure the custom is against that law, and more people get estates by being so, than lose 'em. [Exeunt.
SCENE II.—Olivia's Lodging.
Enter Lord Plausible and Boy with a candle.
L. Plau. Little gentleman, your most obedient, faithful, humble servant. Where, I beseech you, is that divine person, your noble lady?
Boy. Gone out, my lord; but commanded me to give you this letter. [Gives him a letter.